


l'appel du vide

by helenblackthorn



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: (kind of but not really) - Freeform, F/F, Marriage Proposal, References to Depression, references to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 06:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenblackthorn/pseuds/helenblackthorn
Summary: "Time will pass; these moods will pass; and I will, eventually, be myself again."— Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and MadnessAline raises the glass and speaks quietly. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”Helen tries to match her smile, but she can’t, not really, and raises her glass to clink it against Aline’s gently. They each take a respective drink. The wine is sweet on her tongue and smooth on her throat, familiar, and Helen has to force herself to not tip the rest of the glass back and finish it off in one swing. Her chest feels tight, a bitter sadness sweltering within it; it was a feeling that fluctuated often. Sometimes it hit her early in the morning, so badly she couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. Other times it came periodically throughout the day. Like now.She’d been trying to fight it off all evening, for Aline’s sake. She didn’t want to burden her more than she already has. But Helen was losing energy to resist it.





	l'appel du vide

**Author's Note:**

> just a little something I wrote up as a request for someone a while ago (like three years ago, yikes), and decided I liked it enough to post it here :)

Wrangel Island had never felt like home. Helen and Aline had made it as comfortable as they could, but it could never be Los Angeles. Not with the silent halls, the snowy tundra and mountains that went on for miles, not when they were surrounded by the arctic sea at every angle. It could never be Idris, or Beijing - it could never be  _home_ , ever. It was nothing but a domestic prison cell and that was exactly what it had felt like.

Helen was beginning to wonder whether or not they would be here forever.

She wasn’t sure if she could do it. She had lived here for a year and still could never shake the feeling of wrong from the ridges of her spine. She didn’t belong here, Aline certainly didn’t either. Helen wasn’t so sure that she could handle living in the loneliness of this exile for the rest of her life; however short or long that would be. Maybe eventually, she thought, living here in this Siberian solitude would drive her mad. But at least, she has realized selfishly, she has Aline with her. That’s something. That’s everything.

She would never be able to do this on her own.

“It took me a little while but,” Aline says excitedly as she enters the living room again and sits down beside Helen, a bottle of pink moscato wine and two glasses in her hand, “I finally found our favourite wine in the cellar.”

“You’re a blessing,” Helen says softly, a small smile curling the corners of her lips. Wine forgotten, Aline truly was one, no doubt. Helen wasn’t sure how she got so lucky to find her, especially when ‘luck’ was never really in her favour before.

“So is that cellar,” jokes Aline, pouring the two of them each a glass and handing one to Helen, a serene smile on her face. Aline raises the glass and speaks quietly. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Helen tries to match her smile, but she can’t, not really, and raises her glass to clink it against Aline’s gently. They each take a respective drink. The wine is sweet on her tongue and smooth on her throat, familiar, and Helen has to force herself to not tip the rest of the glass back and finish it off in one swing. Her chest feels tight, a bitter sadness sweltering within it; it was a feeling that fluctuated often. Sometimes it hit her early in the morning, so badly she couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. Other times it came periodically throughout the day. Like now.

She’d been trying to fight it off all evening, for Aline’s sake. She didn’t want to burden her more than she already has. But Helen was losing energy to resist it.

“One year closer to 20,” Helen says, a small attempt of a joke, “I’m getting old.”

“Just a little bit,” Aline laughs; it’s soft and it sounds like Helen’s favourite song. She would be happy to just listen to it for the rest of her life, if she could. It was one of Helen’s favourite things about her, out of many. Aline laughed from her chest, didn’t try to hide it or fake it - it was laughter in it’s truest form. Aline pauses, one of her fingernails tapping noiselessly against the side of her glass, dark eyes observant. Helen, when she meets them, can see the underlying concern within them. “What are you thinking about?” She asks.

“I was just thinking that I’m lucky to have you,” Helen says - and it’s the truth, just not the whole of it. “More than lucky, actually.”

Aline’s lips tip upwards into a gentle smile and she reaches over to tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind one of Helen’s pointed ears - since her exile she’d gone back to hiding them, didn’t like to see them, but Aline had always found them to be strangely beautiful, and something that she shouldn’t have been ashamed of. It was her who had reminded Helen of that when they first met. “You’re sweet. But I know that’s not what’s really on your mind,” she says gently, “you can tell me. You shouldn’t push it back.”

Helen is hesitant to answer, so she takes another sip of her wine and turns to the fire. Aline doesn’t press her into answering and doesn’t say it again; just waits, silent and encouraging as she always was. “I was telling the truth,” she responds, “I’m so lucky to have you in my life because in a totally selfish way, I know I wouldn’t be able to do this on my own. Just the thought of not being able to spend my birthday in Los Angeles with my siblings…“ Helen shakes her head, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth before continuing. “It’s just hard. They’ve been such a huge part of my life that without them I’m not even sure who I am.”

“But I do,” Aline reassures, “I fell in love with every part of you. You’re really missing out.” It’s a half-hearted attempt at a joke, if the slight playfulness in her tone is any indication. “Believe me sweetie, what you’re feeling is temporary. Your heart will heal with time, though it may not heal the same. I promise you, it will get better. I’ll do anything in my power to make sure of that. I  _promise_.”

When Helen looks over at her at last, her eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over her eyelids, down pale freckled cheeks. She hated this sinking feeling in her chest with every fiber of her being; hated feeling so helpless all the time. Aline didn’t deserve to have to bear it on her shoulders too, but yet she did anyway, despite Helen trying haplessly to spare her from it. Aline looks as sincere as she sounds - she was the calm to Helen’s storm, that peaceful serenity, the smell of the air after it rained: refreshing and pure and everything Helen loved most.

She puts her wine glass on the coffee table in front of them and the crackling fire, turns to face Aline head-on without saying a word. One of her hands finds Aline’s cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing gently over the skin. Underneath such poor lighting one couldn’t tell, but Helen knew that there was a light sprinkling of freckles peppered around her nose - so light it was hard to see them.

The next words that come out of her mouth are spoken purely with love and unexpressed gratitude. It almost surprises her, but it doesn’t, because she knows it’s what she’s wanted to for so long.

“Marry me,” she whispers, verdigris eyes searching Aline’s - a thousand shades of brown that Helen wouldn’t mind getting lost in forever.

Aline falters in shock, pink lips parting and back straightening, her eyes big and wide. Helen momentarily worries that she had asked too much of her so soon: to tie her down on Wrangel Island for the rest of her life for good. It’s gone as quickly as it comes: Aline smiles and it lights up her face beneath the glow of the fire and Helen swears she sees her eyes water.

“Yes,” Aline says, voice strong and assured, “of course I’ll marry you.” And then she takes Helen’s face in her hands and presses her lips to hers, fueled with passion and love and this desperate desire. Aline tastes like vanilla lip gloss, a little like salt, and she can’t get enough of it.

It will take time for her heart to heal, and it would be hard. But with Aline, Helen thinks, maybe it would be all the more easier. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking of posting a story of heline one-shots that I've done in the past as requests, and ones that I haven't yet done (but will post as I do them) - let me know if you guys would be interested in something like that!!
> 
> you can find me @helen-blackthorn on tumblr !


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